Agnasci makes the long walk back to Tuxedo Springs trailer park, by himself. He prefers it that way, lately. Rachel will surely be furious when he comes home, covered in mud, after 3 in the morning. But then again, when isn't she furious?
He briefly considered asking Penrose for a couch to sleep on, but discarded the idea almost immediately. Something about his mentor just bugs Agnasci, even more than Rachel's clingy, emotional neediness.
It's the smug self assurance that bothers him, Agnasci realizes. Penrose has power, sure. But he's about as introspective as a puddle of jello. In the end, Penrose will be just like all the others. For now, Penrose is useful. Agnasci will learn from him, take his knowledge, and use it to grow in power until the man has nothing left to give.
Even while these semi-mutinous thoughts are swirling through his head, Agnasci is planning. Plotting. He pulls out his phone and sends a text to a man who is used to getting 3am texts from lowlifes like Orlando.
"Got more for you," the message reads. Send.
"How much more?" comes the response from the contact Big Rich.
"Ten. Worth your time, anyway."
Ding. New message received. "Any heat?"
"Clean."
"Black House, 10pm."
Agnasci will be there long before 10pm. But he won't be meeting with Big Rich...
And suddenly, he's standing in front of Rachel's door. He can see light through the kitchen window. Damn, she's awake. It takes more courage than he expected to open the door. Rachel is watching reruns of The Price is Right on an old, faded television.
"Any explanation?" she asks.
"Workin'" Orlando says noncommittally. He drops a small stack of cash on the coffee table. It's the last of his emergency fund, but hopefully it will convince Rachel to get off his case.
"At this hour?" Rachel asks incredulously.
"Emergency," Agnasci explains, casting Emotional Urging as he does so. "There was a small fire in the pharmacy. Had to inventory the whole office, and secure the meds." Predictably, she is filled with relief that he has come home safely, but he can't completely erase her suspicion.
"A fire? Why does it look like you were working in mud?"
"The sprinkler activated. There was twenty five years worth of crud in those pipes."
"But..."
"Please, Rachel. I'm exhausted. Let me get some sleep. We'll talk about it in the morning."
She looks at him for a long time, studying his face, searching for any hint of deception. There is none. There never is.
"Alright," she says. "We'll talk about it in the morning."
